


stupidity, undying

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: DESPITE ALL THIS its not angst actually dw, Discussion of Death, Established Relationship, Hiding Medical Issues, Jon-Typical Levels of Self-Preservation, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Non-Graphic Violence, medical issues being: getting stabbed!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The last thing Jon remembers saying is, “it’s all right, I’m fine,” directly before he keels over.Prompt: Jonmartin, Jon hiding an injury.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 10
Kudos: 358





	stupidity, undying

The last thing Jon remembers saying is, “it’s all right, I’m fine,” directly before he keels over.

Distantly he hears Martin yell something. Maybe his name. It’s all really drowned out by the wind roaring in his ears, the heady rush that makes his vision ( _all_ his vision for a change, isn’t that nice) go white, and soon Jon finds himself nowhere at all, away from himself, a phantom limb.

It really wasn’t a good idea to hide the wound. But, well, Martin had been so worried. And Jon had just been glad to see him. So… yes, perhaps he’d hidden a gaping hole in his side from one of the Hunters’ errant blades for maybe a couple of hours, it was _fine_ , it’s _fine_ , also the blood loss really lent a fog of lightheadedness that made it seem like a better decision at the time.

He should have read a statement or something to heal up. But the thing is – they’d been on a date. At a restaurant and everything. Martin had been _smiling_. Jon weighed this against the potentially upsetting prospect of telling Martin, _this has been a lovely night and you’re very nice, but I’m bleeding out right now and we should probably go to A &E_ and decided, well, that simply wouldn’t do. He’d been panicking quite a bit, and… perhaps his self-preservation instincts, at this point, are simply nil. Martin probably would have some angry words about that.

Maybe he should be taking care of himself more, but it’s not like he’s really learned how to do so even _before_ the whole slowly-losing-one’s-humanity advent. But at the same time, it’s not like he’s _dying_ , so, really, what difference does it make?

At least Jon thinks he’s not dying. Hm. It’s quite a lot of white noise and the general sensation of nothing for being… alive.

That’s worrying.

“Oh… you again?” a familiar voice speaks. It sounds very distant, as if being carried over a large canyon.

Jon turns.

The distinct, vaguely non-Euclidean form of Oliver Banks sighs, crossing arms over what probably used to be a torso. “What’d you do _this_ time, Sims?”

“Er.” He feels sheepish. Is he really at death’s door? Again? Without even being in a coma, this time? Wow.

“Well, you’re not gonna _die._ ” Oliver procures a cigarette from god knows where and starts to light it. “That boyfriend of yours is already fussing over your wound, he’s figured out it’s non-fatal, the bleeding’s about to stop.” He raises an eyebrow. “Though just barely, considering you’re _here_.”

“I… er… the night got away from me,” Jon admits, picking at a thread in his jumper (which, frankly, he’s surprised he can still perceive in this world of nothing). “I haven’t exactly been taking care of myself. This – this is a bit of a wakeup call, to be honest.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Normally one brush with death is enough for people to swear off taking risks for the rest of their lives.”

“Well, I’m not a _person_ , am I?” Jon snaps defensively.

Oliver gives him a level stare. “Um, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but _me either._ Your excuse of ‘I’m a monster, I deserve this fate’ isn’t going to work. Certainly won’t work for your Martin, either.”

_His Martin._ Huh. That’s… well, that’s. Hm. Jon compartmentalizes those feelings for later.

“Listen, I’m a busy man,” Oliver continues, “I’ve taken up some responsibilities following my death. Got a lot of people to visit. I can’t keep using up all my time on you.”

Jon sighs. “Yeah… yeah, I know.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Didn’t realize how little self-preservation I had left. How much I let it… slip away from me. It feels easier to just let myself be hurt.”

“No one benefits from you getting hurt, except the things you’re fighting against. Your martyrdom doesn’t do anyone much favors, Sims.”

He smirks humorlessly. “Georgie told me something like that, once.”

Oliver blinks. “Ah, yeah, Georgie. Nice girl.”

Jon does a double take. “You know–?”

But Oliver is already turning to leave, crushing the cigarette under his heel as he walks. “Tell her hi when you get back for me. I heavily doubt she’d appreciate a visit in person.”

Then the all-encompassing, forever-stretching white stretches into a cacophony – color, sound, unrecognizable shapes dancing under Jon’s eyelids, only for a moment before he snaps into consciousness again. He groans. It feels as though he’s just been slammed back into his body like a sack of potatoes.

Someone’s calling his name. “…on? Jon? Oh, thank Christ. How many – how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four,” mumbles Jon, not bothering to mention that he only knows that because it popped into his head, and he hasn’t actually opened his eyes on account of the splitting migraine that’s descended.

“You _idiot._ ” Martin’s voice sounds like a lot of things. Angered. Relieved. Tearful. Annoyed beyond recognition. Jon finds himself smiling, because an angry Martin is invariably an adorable Martin, even if it _is_ a situation where it’s completely justified and Jon absolutely was being an idiot.

“Hi,” he croaks, feeling around and meeting Martin’s hand on the edge of the mattress he’s laying on. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“God, Jon, the wound wasn’t _healing_ , it only started to close up ten minutes before. What – what even _happened?_ ”

“Hunters.” He doesn’t know how they circumvented the healing. Or how much of it has to do with typical Beholding effects on the human body, or his chance encounter with Oliver. In any case, Jon doesn’t try to Know.

“God,” Martin repeats again, quietly, and Jon feels the rush of guilt again. He remembers, suddenly, the conversation he’d had, and the words spill out without much planning.

“Martin. I was stupid today. I’ve been stupid many days.” He stops to let out a wry chuckle. “This is just the – the culmination of it, I suppose, and honestly, I don’t know what I expected to happen. I keep… distancing myself from my body. Treating it as a thing of _other_. Treating _myself_ … as a thing of other.” Jon swallows, feeling a lump rise in his throat, but Martin squeezes his hand and he finds the words to continue. “It’s unfair. To you, because… well, I’d _hope_ you cared about me, but… unfair to myself as well. And at the time, I thought… good. I don’t – I don’t _deserve_ to be fair to myself, you know? I thought I could take it.”

He closes his eyes. “I couldn’t take it.” His side throbs.

“So here’s the ultimatum, I suppose, that I’m imposing onto myself. I am going to… stop treating myself as a monster. Even if I am – even if I may be one.” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is… keeping you safe, and keeping you alive, and keeping you _happy_. I can’t do that very well if I’m dead, can I?”

“No, you can’t,” Martin agrees with a shaky chuckle. Jon reaches out for him, and Martin accepts the touch without protest.

“I’m sorry for the stress I cause. And also, sorry if I ruined the date. I quite liked our time together.”

Martin laughs. “N-no. Not ruined. It really was nice, you’re right.” He pauses. “Though, I don’t think we can ever show our faces at that restaurant again.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Anyway, um, I’m glad that you’ve come to that conclusion.” His voice turns sharp: “Though, I’m _not_ so glad that it took _getting stabbed and bleeding out_ to do it.”

“I’m stubborn.”

“You’re daft.” Martin puts his face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Now – I’m going to dote over you. And you’re not going to complain about it. It will be _relentless._ ” Martin cuts off Jon’s immediate protests. “Nope! No! You already worried me sick tonight, you’re gonna let me have this. I’m making you soup, goddammit. It’s gonna be _domestic._ ” With a light pat to Jon’s hair, Martin flounces off to the kitchen with an air of triumph.

“That wasn’t in the agreement,” Jon calls after him. “I said specifically ‘stop treating myself as a monster!’ I never said I’d be any better at accepting other people’s help!”

“Tough,” laughs Martin before disappearing around the corner en route to the kitchen. Jon slumps back onto the mattress, lets out a tired laugh, then reaches for his phone to message Georgie.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was given by @babyneedsnack on my tma tumblr [@prentissed](https://prentissed.tumblr.com/post/189221417773/well-if-you-insist-jonmartin-with-jon-hiding)


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